Now You See Me The 125th Hunger Games
by Eternity Awake
Summary: The 5th quarter quell offers both safety in danger, as the tributes will be projected a map of their fellow competitors hourly. Tributes will be stuck in sticky situations as they have to battle out against 23 fellow children. Who will make it out alive? SYOT OPEN!
1. Prologue 1

Maps. Interesting things, they are. One of the more intelligent inventions of humankind, it is said. They can show you a range of wonders, from where to go to how far away you are from home; but for these games, they'll show you something else. Something… deadly.

This one will show you where you'll meet your peril - or maybe, if you play it safe, where you'll be living for another twenty-four hours.

But don't worry little girl; I can see you trembling in the corner, your hands over your eyes. This map will also show you who, and where, to avoid.

Both a nightmare and a salvation, it lurks like a monster in the dark. It could save you. Or, it could ruin you. It's a matter of choice, your choice. And it's not solely up to you, but those who have also been sentenced to death for the pleasure of others. People just like you, who you might murder, little girl.

But we'll give you a head start.

You can move around, and for an hour you'll be as safe as you can get in the arena. That doesn't mean safe. It means 'I'm still in danger, but at least no one knows where I am for now'. For now. Powerful words, but words aren't enough in the arena.

For now, doesn't guarantee you will be safe. For now, won't keep you alive.

Once you are reaped, you are never guaranteed to be safe again. From the time you are reaped, until the time you die, you're on borrowed time. That's the only guarantee you have in the Hunger Games. For now.

 **Gamemaker meeting. 6 months before the 125th Hunger Games, the 5th Quarter Quell.**

A cough cut through the commotion running rife through the room. As if a blanket muffled all noise, the thick silence was suffocating.

"Is everybody here now?" The voice of the head Gamemaker rang through the room, his exaggerated pronunciation sounding silly even to his fellow Capitolites. And in a way resembling the start of the very Hunger Games they were discussing, he murmured, "Then, my friends, let the meeting begin!"

He threw his arms back in an overly pompous gesture that could not be seen as anything but ridiculous. The room was littered with repressed sniggers, which were quickly muted with the impending realization of a jobless future.

Then, as if rehearsed, the once humorous figure distorted. With his facade discarded, the gaudy man that once stood in front of them moments before was gone. "How are we doing on time?" He snapped at the timid intern, who could not be much more than a year out of school. The kid was obviously not from a well to do family, with his eyes being a natural cocoa brown - a rarity for the capitol - and the still retained signs of puberty shown in the form of pimples scattered across his ghostly pale face. The only sign of any self-altercations on the boy was the blue hair and even that seemed muted.

He opened his mouth as if to answer but evidently, the head was not feeling patient.

"Have you suddenly, inexplicably turned into an avox?" He asked in a voice that would sound jovial if he wasn't but an inch away from the poor kid's face.

Everyone watched in silence at the exchange, their mouths dry. Finally, the teen managed to squeak out something akin to, "Making good time, Sir".

With a self-satisfied smirk on his face, the Head Gamemaker stepped away from the quivering intern, leaving the lingering eyes of the gathered game makers to swiftly avert their gaze from the trembling form.

He turned back to the room at large and smiled as if he hadn't just made a kid practically wet his pants.

"Now, the arena design?" This time, his voice lacked the poisonous edge, perhaps because the person he was talking to was a Gamemaker, or perhaps because when he was talking to her, he never once looked straight at her face, his eyes preferring to explore other parts of her.

"It's progressing well, thank you," she said, "We'll have the arena ready within two months and then it's just a matter of adding the cameras." He nodded absentmindedly, still not focusing on her eyes.

"And the mutations?" He asked, almost reluctantly turning away from her to glare at another game maker.

"Most are completed and being bred. One is in the final stages of design. It should be done within the next week."

He gave a nod of indifference and went around the room, asking for checks on everything. Everything was seemingly on schedule and finally, he gave an approving nod of satisfaction.

It was the most praise they'd received from him in a very long time.

"Time?" He asked the intern.

"On schedule Sir, we should be wrapping up the meeting shortly."

His voice came out as nothing louder than a squeak, still embarrassed from earlier.

A petite young woman with long glossy black hair and yellow heels the size of the sun and twice as deadly looking strolled into the room with the effortless kind of confidence you only get from years of practice.

"Mr. Head Gamemaker Sir." She spat out. "The president has requested your presence in his office immediately after the meeting is over."

The Head game maker turned in his chair. "Thank you. Please tell him I will be arriving shortly."

The woman stalked off, her heels clacking against the carpeted floor.

"I best be going now." He said, pushing in his chair, and giving his fellow game makers a final nod. "Keep working, and I'll get my secretary to send you the information for the next meeting as soon as possible. Don't start slacking now. That's how failures are made.".

He walked off with a huff, towards the president's office.

It was on the top of 4 floors on the presidential mansion. Navy blue curtains hung elegantly against the seemingly golden wallpaper. Towards the back of the room, sat a desk with a small, stocky man behind it.

His name was President Monciere and he was not one you would call humble. He was proud of his nation and everything he had done for it and he had never believed in humility. If he had done something amazing, why not tell people?

"Good evening Mr. President." The Gamemaker said in his most professional tone of voice. The air of importance had been eradicated.

"Good evening. I've come to talk to you about your job position."

"This is it…This is it." The Gamemaker thought. He was finally getting promoted to the presidential advisor!

"I no longer think you're a good fit for this position."

The gamemakers face fell. "What?" He almost yelled but managed to keep himself in check. "But… But… Everything has been going so well!" he protested. Surely, he was being tested.

"I am aware, I believe I have found somebody better suited for the position." President Monciere stated firmly. The look in his eyes was not cruel, but of cold detachment. In that second the Gamemaker realized he had never been important. He had never been anything more than a pawn.

Unnoticed to him in his state of devastation, the Peacekeepers standing at the door positioned their weapons at the past Gamemaker's head.

"Permission to fire sir?" The Peacekeeper on the right questioned.

"Permission granted."

And with that, a bullet was shot into the previous head Gamemakers head, and he slumped to the ground, a look of betrayal on his features.

"Take him away and send for Lady Amiria" The president commanded.

2 minutes later, a beautiful woman with platinum blonde hair and emerald green eyes, a color so stunning it almost hurt to look into them, swayed into the room, towards the president

. She couldn't have been much older than 25 with almost angelic features and her beautiful face smiling seductively.

"The job is yours, my dear."

She smiled and planted a kiss on the 50-year-old president's cheek.

 **Thank you for reading. Please leave a review to let us know what you think. The form to submit is on our profile.**

 **Hope you enjoyed.**

 **-Ella, Nargie and Moons.**


	2. Prologue 2

**PROLOGUE 2:**

 _Cold, harsh, twisted._

Those were just a few of the words that were whispered around Lady Amira. And when the stray ones reached her ears - well, they were proved true.

She may have been pretty - or more correctly, beautiful - on the outside, but beneath her snow white chest was a heart as black as the coal in Twelve, although that bit of coal wasn't turning into any diamond.

Tapping a manicured red nail against her desk, she grabbed for the document on top of the large pile. Or, you could call it a mountain - it would probably be more accurate in this case. Another sigh filled the air as the new Head Gamemaker read through the recorded interview. For the first few pages, it was positive and the applicant seemed to want to become a new Gamemaker. Until, that was, her name was mentioned.

" _Name?"_

" _Dree Stayker."_

" _Current Job?"_

" _Unemployed."_

" _Reason for applying?"_

" _To serve the Capitol."_

" _Are you aware of who your workers are?"_

" _Yes -Harriadah Bentley, -"_

" _Incorrect. He has been replaced by Lady Amira."_

" _Get me out of here, I'm not going to work under her! She's a maniac - a maniac, you hear me?"_

She chucked the document back into the desk, favouring resting her head in her hands. A headache pulsed begins her eyes, a reminder telling her that it was 'her idea to do this'. Truly, when she'd, ah, 'convinced', let's say, the president to replace the ex-Gamemaker with her, she hadn't realised just how much work it would require. To her, it had seemed like the perfect way to acquire fame and standing amongst the Capitolites, whilst simultaneously not requiring much effort.

Oh, how she was wrong.

Amira allowed her forehead to slip through her hands and land on the wooden desk. It was short lived comfort however, as the bell outside her office rang. Someone was there to see her, even though her PA had assured her of a clear schedule until three o'clock (where she had her weekly meeting with her minions, otherwise known as Gamemakers).

Straightening herself up and smoothing her hair back, she called out, "Come in."

The heavy doors swung open, leading the newcomer in. Amira's minute frown of annoyance escalated into a scowl as the identity of the guest was revealed.

There in front of her, striding in as if he owned the large office, was her second in command.

"I was unaware of a meeting being arranged between us, Vice-head," she viewed him over her folded hands.

He spread his hands wide, shaking his head as if he was refusing a child a sweet, "A last minute thing, I assure you. You don't have to worry about your memory slipping just yet, love."

The insult stung. A small twitch started in one of her fingers, perhaps as a reminder of her deep desire to strangle the irritating man. At this moment, she would be more than happy to denounce this position and resign if it weren't for the high possibility of the sleazy man here taking over. It was this satisfaction that reinforced her will to keep the job.

"And what is it you wish to talk of, that is so important it could not wait for the meeting in," she glanced at the clock on her desk, "two hours?"

"I was wondering if you'd reconsidered your position on my… proposal," he sidled up to the desk, the cocky smirk he favoured so much becoming full blown on his face.

"It appears my view of this proposal hasn't gotten through to your tiny mind yet," she snapped, pushing back her desk and slamming her hands on the table, "I want nothing to do with you and your wanton needs! Now, get out of my sight, you cretin, before you find yourself missing a few body parts."

He blanched, backing away as he glanced at her twitching hands. Opening his mouth, he raised a single hand.

"Just consider - "

"OUT!"

She fell back onto her chair as the doors eased themselves back into position. Eyeballing the documents once more, she let out another sigh. She really needed to work on her public image if she wanted a new Vice-Head

Gamemaker.

 _Later that day, 3 o'clock_

Walking into the room was a nightmare. The pandemonium was at an all time high, with stacks of paper almost been thrown from how energetically the 'debaters' were waving them around. If a bystander were to walk in, they might think it to be a zoo filled with uncivilised apes instead of a meeting between Gamemakers.

Amira stood in front of this chaos, waiting for it to quiet down. The only problem was that it didn't get any quieter than this. Her limit was pushed, however, as a glass of water in one of the apes hands was swung around a little too vigorously, ending up with water being sprayed all over the documents strewn on the table - and, more importantly, _her._

Wiping the drops from her face, careful not to smudge her makeup, she set down her files and

planted her hands on the table. For once, the room was silent.

The buffoon stood there with his glass, looking like a fish out of water. It was an amusing sight, one she was certain would stay with her as a source of humour for a while.

She stared the man down, a cruel glint in her eyes. When he was shaking from fear and about to run for the doors, she turned away from him. But the sigh of relief he gave wasn't going to last long - not if she had anything to do with it.

"We don't need someone like you designing the Hunger Games. You're fired."

The rush of footsteps behind her brought a smirk to her face. She supposed she could suffer that Vice Head if it meant she could keep her public reputation like this. It was all too satisfying to give up.

Btw i am on february break so I will be very active AND I'M GETTING CHICKENS

 **Authors note:**

Hey guys! It's Dreaming here. We've only got a few submissions to get which is amazing so Thank you! We promise not to let you down with this story. We have finished writing some Districts, although we are yet to edit so they should be up soon. We have different time zones and extra curriculars so if you want the chapters to each be written by us all, you'll have to be patient.

This chapter was written predominantly by Moonie, although me and Ella did help. Thank you for reading, (and hopefully reviewing and submitting).

Just a side note from Moons ~ thanks to everyone for submitting, I hope you enjoy our story! It's amazing to collaborate with these goofs, who are particularly good writers (ignore whatever Ella says, she's lying cos she's a good and modest person).

Hey, this is Ella and I AM GETTING CHICKENS. (Can you tell i'm excited?) INCLUDE SOME CHICKEN NAME IDEAS IN YOUR REVIEWS FOR 10 POINTS WHEN WE WORK OUT OUT SPONSOR SYSTEM. I'm going to name the rooster Gus.


	3. District 1- The Princess and The Warrior

**Aurora 'Rory' Aldaine**

 **17 years old**

 **' _The Princess doll'_**

 **District 1 female**

 _Living life like I'm in a dream_

 _I know I've got a big ego_

 _I really don't know why it's such a big deal, though_

 ** _~Be yourself before you forget who you really are~_**

Myrical was out with Eloise again and the only person her mother had to focus on was Aurora. Most children would be thrilled to get more attention from their parents, but not Rory. No, if it was possible, then she would have left this little 'family' long ago. The only reason she hadn't was because of her. Rory couldn't just sit there watch them do the same thing to Myracle that they had done to her and Eloise. She would drive herself bad about. Rory didn't want something that heavy on her conscious.

Eloise had left and she didn't blame her for it, but she couldn't follow on the same path as her anymore. If Myrical was older, maybe, but Aurora swore that she would not let her be brainwashed into thinking like her parents. It was a hope, however much in vain, that if she was at home, there would be a chance for the twisted dreams of her parents to be forced onto Rory and not onto Myracle.

"Stand up straighter! Stop making that ridiculous expression, smile! Are you going to eat that last muffin? Stop being so unladylike! Are you listening to me Aurora Aldaine?"

Her mother's voice echoed in her ears, it was a constant reminder of her past and consequently, her future. Rory dunked her perfectly styled head under cold water to stop it, to stop the voices. When she realised what she had done, she glared at the mirror opposite her, digging her sharpened nails into the soft porcelain skin of her palm. Shaking her now drenched locks, she shrugged off her outfit and turned the water back on in her shower, scrubbing until her skin was sore but not pink. No, it would never be allowed to be anything but that specific milky white color, often only achieved with countless layers of clever makeup. God forbid anyone ever saw her real skin, a muddled mess of acne scars from the years of almost never taking the mounds of cloying gunk off of her face.

And with her delicate skin, even the lightest layer was troublesome for her skin. But it wasn't like her mother would ever let her stop wearing it; no, that would amount to something like blasphemy in her debauched vision.

Then there was the mark covering nigh on half of her face. Aurora had been raised as a child to fear and hate that simple mark, to see it as a sign of being a freak, being the odd one out within their seemingly utopian little family unit.

Rory was forced to cover it from such a young age that she was pretty sure Myracle didn't know it existed. Surely, her mother would prefer it to be that way; it was yet another contribution to the high standards of Eloise - well, until a year ago, that was. That had been when their facade had started crumbling, when her mother became more excessive in her punishments and demands of the two youngest siblings. Especially Aurora.

She didn't understand it. It wasn't their fault that Eloise had defied their parents, had decided not to volunteer. It wasn't even Eloise's fault. They'd shared a room and although Eloise had never said anything, Rory still remembered the muffled cries in the dead of the night; not even a pillow could hide those. She dreaded to think what would happen if she followed in Eloise's footsteps. More specifically, what would happen to Myracle. If that was how hard her mother had cracked down on them when one of three siblings disobeyed, what would happen when two did?

Now, Eloise was happier. Aurora could see it in her eyes, in her countenance and her actions. She looked alive. Aurora and Eloise's eyes used to be identical but now Eloise had a sparkle that Rory could only dream of one day reflecting in her own pale green eyes.

She didn't wear the slightest smudge of makeup anymore, something Rory was terrified to even think about. Her childhood had consisted of her mother drilling into her how masculine she looked, forcing her to hide it so as to avoid 'shame'.

Rory thought back to how reckless Eloise had once been. At the time she had found it funny, but thinking back, had it been a call for help that no one had bothered answering? It was almost sickening to think of, to feel the guilt about not helping her elder sister. It was just a relief that she didn't need help now, not when she'd taken the strength to help herself.

Myracle was a sweet girl, but she went in the opposite direction, receding into herself, sometimes barely able to talk to anyone but her and Eloise. That was the largest cry for help she had heard and it hurt her to think she couldn't help, no matter her efforts.

"Aurora, are you ready?" her mother called up the stairs. She panicked, scrambling around to find the ever-needed makeup set. She would be killed if she was seen looking like a wreck.

She walked downstairs, feeling her mother's disapproval of the flats she was wearing as if it was tangible. Her eyes scoured Rory's face before she got a sharp nod of the head, deeming her as passable.

Aurora wasn't strong like Eloise - or rather, not mentally, as anyone on the opposite of her mace would testify to her physical power. She wasn't going to be able to do what Eloise did. She was going to volunteer and die a painful death.

But if she died, it would save Myracle in a way defiance never could.

 **Erik Falk**

 **18 years old.**

 **'** _ **The scarred warrior'**_

 **District 1 Male**

 _I won't waste it_

 _I have been patient_

 _But I'm not waiting anymore_

 **~ _Richness in wealth doesn't always equal richness in character~_**

Sell, smile, repeat, sell, smile, repeat.

Erik was working the mind numbingly boring job of cashier. Every customer seemed to be the same to him, each bleeding into the others. As the streak of customers slowly dwindled to a trickle, Glory and Soron slowly started tidying up.

In an hour the shop would close for the reaping. This would likely be his last shift ever working here.

When - if - he won, he would be rewarded with a surplus of money, and wouldn't have to work in his uncle's shop to make a living. But for now, he could shake off the boredom from the mindless work by imagining his up and coming victory speech in his head.

 _"I thank my uncle, I thank my aunt, I thank my cousin's. And I even thank you, Diamond."_

Here, he imagined himself blowing a kiss to the crowd. The other potential volunteer, Diamond, was reckoned to be the districts favourite, but Erik had won out over him in the end. His rival had become so enraged with him that Erik had been terrified he would try to take away his chance at volunteering - potentially through the violence that seemed so likely. Erik ranted about this to his friends, and lo and behold, Diamond had come hobbling in to the training centre a few days later, his metaphorical tail between his one broken, one normal leg.

Erik wasn't angry or even surprised see the end result of his friends violence. If anything, he was just a bit disappointed that he couldn't join in. Diamond was an arrogant, self-centered prick and he didn't deserve the honour of the games; the honour of glory.

Diamond already had all that he wanted and Erik had to work so hard for even the opportunity to volunteer. He wasn't letting it get away because some asshole thought they knew better then the coaches.

Erik clenched his fists, well aware that he was unreasonably angry. The shop was almost ready to shut up for the reapings. As he stepped out and locked up the door, he absentmindedly waved goodbye to Glory and Soren as they took the opposite path. He tried not to think of how this could be the last time he saw them - after all, he was going to win… right?

He and his family lived on top of one of the tallest hills in One. If he squinted hard, he fancied he could see the tops of the mountains in Two on a clear day, but one day his uncle explained to him how far away the other districts were. That he was probably just seeing some very thick clouds, or maybe just the peaks of his own jail of a district.

Still, Erik liked to imagine that it was in fact Two. In the training centre, the facilities of Two's were talked about almost reverently and in the Games, the people from Two were almost always the leaders of the career pack. It was one of those facts in life, as stable as gravity is in the earth.

Perhaps if he lived in two, maybe that fire wouldn't have started. Perhaps his parents would still be alive, and he would have siblings himself, just like his cousins did. He wouldn't have those scars criss crossing across his back, forming once smooth skin into ugly, puckered skin. If he lived in Two, everything could have been better.

He hated One.

His reaction was as if he had been branded, however ironic that was. With his hand clapped over his mouth, he glanced around anxiously as if he'd said that sentence out loud. He wanted to take it back, even if it was only in his own head. Because he knew it was true. The Capitol, however, couldn't.

Whilst District One may have been shiny on the outside, not all that glitters is made of gold.

Erik quickly yanked off the black shirt he was wearing and shoved on a t shirt and a worn pair of jeans. His blonde hair stood on end and he tried to flatten it with a spurt of water but it wouldn't stick, instead becoming more obstinate. He frowned at his reflection, attempting to put on a smile. After all, he'd have to look good when he stood up before the entirety of District One.

He swallowed, gave up on his hair and gave a confident smirk to the mirror. No one was home and he only had 5 minutes before he'd have to rush to the reapings. Erik definitely didn't want to look sweaty for his moment of glory.

He walked out of the door and back down the hill. Looking out into the distance, his forehead furrowed as he realised he had been deluding himself thinking he could see Two. What had seemed like a distant adventure was but a mist of clouds.

Once he got back, Victor's Village and mentoring would be his life. He would live comfortably in One and be happy about it.

 **Aurora 'Rory' Aldaine**

The walk to the square was painful. No, she wasn't talking painful as in 'dagger in your side' painful. Mentally painful. The seemingly never ending silence felt like she was trapped in an endless void of regrets.

All she wanted to do was scream. Let her emotions out. Instead she was trapped on an uncomfortable walk with her mother as she prepared to possibly end her life voluntarily. But even though it was her words putting her to death, it wasn't her choice.

Rory had been conditioned for this day. All the years of training and constant discipline had all been to push her towards the end goal. The games.

But now that the day was here, Aurora questioned if she was ready.

That didn't matter apparently, for the reaping still went on. As soon as had she arrived and been separated from her mother, the escort was surging onstage.

District One was supposed to have the best, most experienced escort. Rory doubted that as the woman that toddled along looked like she was lacking a few brain cells. The escort, named Crella Lelanna smiled brightly looking nowhere in particular and struggled to walk in her 5 inch, neon green heels.

Crella grasped onto the microphone for dear life. "Good after….morning ladies and gentleman of District 3!" She was clearly tipsy as a guard tapped her back and politely corrected her. "One! I mean one! Good morning ladies and gentleman of District One!" Her smile only grew, revealing her gold teeth.

"As you all know, it is the 125th Hunger Games, the 5th Quarter Quell! The tributes chosen today will be honored in the arena with an exciting twist! The tributes locations will be casted into the sky every hour! Isn't that fun! I won't hesitate anymore, let's find out the female tribute."

She wobbled over to the glass bowl, careful to never take her eyes off the audience.

Aurora clenched her fists. Like it or not, it was her time. This was her last chance. Did she really want to do this?

"Dominica Allens!" Crella shouted out.

Stepping forward Aurora shot her hand up. "I volunteer as tribute!"

She had been too scared to fight back. Now she would have to if she didn't want to be killed.

 **Erik Falk**

Another year, another reaping. Typical escort, typical girl volunteering - Aurora Aladine, her name was. But it wouldn't be important in the end; they were going into the games after all, where names ended up as nothing more than a memory of the past. She had made a name for herself the usual way, through hours spent sculpting her body, face and skills. Yes, she was 'pretty,' but Erik saw past the layers of too heavy makeup. She was a nobody. Just a power hungry ditz wanting to be famous. Just like every other girl.

Her hair was probably dyed anyway.

She gave the typical speech that Erik had heard thousands of times. She was average. Nothing special, the epitome of the 'perfect' district One doll. Just a somebody he could perhaps use in the long run. Erik certainly wouldn't form a relationship with her, no. She was a tool rather than an ally.

But Erik… he was anything but average in his own opinion. A young kid he didn't necessarily care about was called out by the overly manicured escort. He Lifted his toned arm into the air proudly and tilted his head up, chest puffed out.

"I volunteer," he crowed proudly.

His words were as loud and confident as Erik liked to consider himself. Up on stage, the lights from the cameras seemed to glisten like the stars that you could so rarely see in District One sky. It was all fake nowadays

Some saw the games as being symbolic for death, but Erik saw a new beginning. A new chapter in the book of his life had been wrote. And he had just turned the page.

* * *

 **Authors note:**

Hey guys, it's your 'pal' Nargie. You will find me in your local supermarket. Just go to the 'ADHD 14 year old' section and start reading a book. Sorry for the wait between the last prologue and this. If it's any consolation, we're nearly done with District Two. We've had a few scheduling errors and on some parts just pure laziness if we're honest with you. It ain't easy with three people :P (but it's fun)

And as you read this, we are working on D3! So we hope you enjoyed this chapter, and hopefully many more to come :)

Bye ~ Moons, Stars and Roses x


	4. District 2- the Feral and the Fighter

**Alexyandra** **Acers**

 **16 years old**

 _ **'The Feral Fury'**_

 **District 2**

I may be wrong, I may be right

I may never see the light

But you can never take away my freedom

 **~Temper us in fire, and we grow stronger. When we suffer, we survive~**

People only noticed what they wanted to notice. And small 16 year old girls were usually not in that frame.

Fury - or at least, that's what she thought her name was - knew that all too well. Years of averted eyes from the so called 'bravest district around' had taught her that people didn't care about small acts of bravery; no, it was all about the grisly deeds in those torturous games. That was the only bravery that mattered to most in Two.

After all, what could be considered more 'brave' than the killing of innocent children for the sick pleasure of twisted Capitolites? Certainly not helping them to survive on the cold stone streets of Two, where they're covered in mud and God knows what else. To be truthful, Fury couldn't remember the last time she'd had a proper bath since leaving that... place?

She didn't remember much about her old life. The only things that mattered were her present and most importantly, her future. She wasn't quite sure how old she was, but every year she was taken to the square for the reapings and this was her 5th she thought. That made her 16.

Perhaps if was not being brought up with murderers in training, but Fury could never understand the obsession with innocent death. It left her baffled.

Fury didn't care about death. Although she hadn't been in one, shrinking from people was the way fights were started almost every week, and they never stopped until one was victorious - and the other either dead or unconscious. But it was fair. It was balanced.

District Two could be cold, with the mountains blocking out the sun, but Fury barely noticed. She was busy screaming at the tough grip that the man in white had on her arm.

"Hurry up, Acers," his breath stank of alcohol and rot as it hit her face.

It took a minute for Fury to realise he was talking to her. 'Acers' brought back memories of long ago. Of a starkly decorated room. Of a harsh voice. Of a swelling belly. Of an innocent screaming. And then of the desperate cold and the feeling of helplessness before she had learnt to adapt, to survive.

Fury was not her real name. It was short for Furious. But that wasn't her real name either, she was almost sure of it. But it didn't matter. Names were baggage. People thought they could be used to define her.

She was once called, well, something, but then she got a taste of dreadful freeness and she was rebirthed Fury by people. People who she didn't care about and who didn't care about her.

But it didn't matter. To some the name meant anger. But to her it meant freedom. It meant solitude. It meant more to her than the before name.

And that was all that mattered to her.

* * *

 **Nigel Cultro**

 **17 years old**

 **' _The Determined Fighter'_**

 **District 2**

Man, Mars

Strong, protective, determined

Needed

 **~Strong people stand up for themselves, stronger people stand up for others~**

Pride.

Fame.

Fortune.

All the reasons to win the games. But to Nigel, it wasn't like that anymore. Sure, he was strong and sure he was fast. Sure he could make girls swoon by a single look but he wasn't happy. And maybe that was all he wanted.

People wonder what their lives would be like if they could change one thing. To Nigel, that question has been hard. So many things seemed wrong with the world, and how on Earth was some guy supposed to fix that.

It didn't matter how great he thought he was sometimes or how proud his choice would make people. Like his trainer always told him, you can be the ripest, juiciest peach in the entire world, but there will always be somebody who hates peaches.

He had started training when he was three. Two years before everybody else. His parents were eager to get him ready. They wanted him to be great. And he was, but they had to give up their son. An eye for an eye. He barely remembered him. But if he did win, he would try and reach out to them.

But the question he asked himself everyday, was: Am I great enough?

He had confided in his friends once. He asked if he really was ready. They just told him that second guessing anything would lead him to nothing but death in the games.

Then again, that was the answer he was expecting. And they were right.

Nigel rolled out of bed, hardly wanting to open his brown eyes. For a day he had been dreading, it seemed like to much work.

Today especially, he really, really hated peaches.

His trainer came into his room, not knocking as always and shaked him.

"Nigel get up! Today's your day."

He groaned and rolled to his side.

"Get up! NOW!" Her voice was commanding and firm.

Not wanting to be in trouble, he reluctantly stepped out of bed and glared at his trainer. She looked to perky, knowing that she could be sending him into death trap today.

"We didn't train for so long for you to sleep in, come on, we need to get you down to the dressing rooms." She smiled again, her voice steady but you could hear the firmness.

Most think that only district 1 cares about looks, but strength wasn't the only factor taken in for picking tributes.

They wanted their tributes to be attractive and strong. Heartthrobs got the sponsors. Romances got the attention. Strong douchebags only got laughed at when they died. Sometimes the academy advisers would talk to the tributes before hand and tell them they needed to start a romance in the games.

It was starting to become cliche.

His trainer, Miss Marcie, practically dragged him downstairs and pushed him into the black leather chair.

A half hour later, he was dressed a white shirt and khaki shorts that fell just right. His hair was perfectly tousled. They even put makeup on him.

To 'smooth' his skin. Nigel didn't know skin was supposed to be smooth.

Miss Marcie sighed, and wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. As much as Nigel despised her at times, she was a mother figure for him and he loved her.

"Nigel, just know that whatever happens, I loved the past 13 years of my life, partly because of you. And for that, thank you."

Nigel smiled and turned away before he started crying.

Maybe he wouldn't lose this afterall.

* * *

 **Alexyandra 'Fury' Acers**

Getting ready takes on different meanings depending on your economic standing.

To some, they bathe, do their hair, makeup, put on their finest clothing. To Fury, it meant pat down her mass of brown curls and try to look as normal as possible. It wasn't hard really. She wasn't drop dead gorgeous or outstandingly ugly. She had normal looks

The jeans were the nicest things she owned- even if they were getting tight. She had taken them from a posh shop somewhere. She would never normally go near that sort of shop- it was family owned which and Fury was ever going to be the cause of a kid going hungry.

But the look that the woman had given her had ignited an anger in Fury, that years later she still felt it. The jeans were a dark green in color and they made her feel almost normal.

Not that she wanted to be normal.

The men in white had placed her and threatened her into not moving but it didn't matter. Fury wouldn't have moved anyway. What was the point?

They didn't care about her enough to think twice about shooting. If they did they would have done something about the homeless 8 year old she once was.

But they only cared about the power they held over her. And even in District Two, where the chances of her getting picked were miniscule, their powers came in the form of the Reaping.

Escorts were just colourful blurs to Fury and she could barely decipher the strong Capitolite accent so she stopped listening. But she paid attention to the name.

Just in case.

Alexandrya Acers.

The first name meant nothing to her. A vaguely familiar sound. But she recognised the second. She waited but no one moved. It seemed like the world had stopped.

She had had a sibling but he was 8 years younger. And a male. No one seemed to move a muscle so Fury (or was it Alexandrya? a confused part of her brain thought) took a shaky step forward and began to walk, one door in front of another. To her surprise and dismay, no one volunteered and she reached the stage, her thick curly hair seemingly dragging her down. She was at the top of the stage when he called out another time there was a volunteer.

Fury felt the flash of anger reigniting. She didn't remember names. They were unimportant. But she did recognize eyes.

And she was looking into exact replicas of the shop woman who scorned her.

* * *

 **Nigel Cultro**

A few hours later, he stood in the front of the 17's section, standing tall and looking perfectly put together.

The escort's accent was heavy. With the blood of children maybe. But after all he hadn't killed them himself.

He listen, soaking in every word. Maybe he would reference somebody, somebody who could help him. Give him advice, But he didn't. All he did was read the name of a girl who Nigel didn't even care enough to notice because he already knew who he was supposed to volunteer with. Rebecca Valance.

She has a beautiful girl with porcelain skin and jet black hair. But she didn't. She stayed quiet.

So instead of the model, Nigel was stuck with a girl who looked like she hadn't bathed in months and a mass of curls.

Great. Just his luck.

Moments later the name of the male was called out. Aster May.

"I volunteer!" he cried out, raising his hand above his head.

Unlike Rebecca, he wasn't going to back out.

Like it or not, this was his destiny and Nigel wasn't one to change fate.

* * *

 **AUTHORS NOTE**

Hey guys! The new chap wasn't too long eh (Kill me). These two tributes were sweeeet!

~ Nargs

And continuing on from that, thank you so much for reading! We really appreciate it. If you want to tell us which tributes you hate or like so far, let us know in a review! (And Ella isn't here at the moment but she'd probably say hi too)

~ Moons

Thanks, bye~


	5. District 3- The Outcasts

**Kira belongs to AmyPurpleFrenchFry and Benjamin to MakerofAllThings**

* * *

 **Kira Fuse**

 **15 years old**.

 ** _'The Disgrace'_**

 **District 3 female**

 _No hope, just lies_

 _And you're taught to cry into your pillow_

 _But I survived_

 **~God made me and broke the mould~**

"How many damn times do I have to repeat it? I'm not wearing the dress mother! You can't force me to be a priss. I'm not like you."

Kira knew immediately she had gone much too far. It wasn't one of those dawning realisations that you hear about in novels and movies; no, it was a cold snap at the back of her neck, the chill of her blood rushing through her. She hardly ever spoke back to her mother normally but she wasn't going to wear the dress.

She couldn't.

Just the thought was enough to put her in a cold, dead sweat.

"You're a disgrace," the words were barely a whisper, but they were no less painful to hear. Kira glanced down at the floorboards beneath her feet, eyes tracing the various grooves indented in them. She swore that if she looked closely enough, she could see the indent of a belt, the curved marks of fingernails being dug in. But no. That had been once, a long time ago; the memories, needless to say, had stuck with her.

Kira wasn't one to be dramatic but the words were enough to make her want to cry. Sob almost. She had known how her mother felt about the 'mistake child' for a while now but to hear it verbalised.

"Oh Kira."

Her mother sounded upset but as she looked up to try and meet her eyes, her mother hardened again and raised her perfectly manicured hand. Her nails were blood red.

For a second, there was an overpowering numbness riding through her but soon, she felt the warm, unpleasant ache deep in her cheek and soon, the warm trickle of the crimson blood where her mother's ruby encrusted ring must have dug into her delicate skin.

Kira stumbled backwards, a feeling of betrayal flashing through her. She felt the nausea rise in her gut. Her mother's eyes stared straight at her, the cold resolve on her face hardening the once delicate features. She blinked once, her cheek muscles twitching as a twinge of pain flared up throughout her.

A strange feeling of calm washing over her, Kira turned quickly on her heel and walked away from her mother into her (too) large bedroom. She searched through her wardrobe until she found a simple, soft yellow dress. She didn't know when she had gotten it but she suspected it was a hand me down from Sienna, her best friend and honorary sibling. Sienna was known for being much more 'girly' than Kira, but unlike it did between Kira and her biological sibling Anastasia - or Nasty as Kira had so… 'affectionately' nicknamed her - it never caused a rift between them.

It was bad, but the only person she cared for as much as she did Sienna was her other best friend but definitely not sibling, honorary or otherwise. Alistair.

Kira didn't necessarily hate her family, but a deaf, blind man living a mile away would be able to spot the obvious differences between them.

They were seemingly perfect.

They were almost all blonde, a rarity for 3, beside her father who had given Kira her mud brown locks. He had taken to dying it the honey blonde shade to match the rest of his family, something his often frazzled hair detested. He constantly pestered Kira to do the same, though she politely refused each time. They also smiled constantly. Perfect.

Her family all had the same caramel eyes but clever makeup tactics made her mother and sister's look subtly green. Caramel was considered boring and lower class.

And then there was Kira, who would likely be more at home in a circus. In this hell of a home, beauty and being 'proper' were the most valued qualities. And even though Kira didn't seem to have that certain 'look'. She had brains. Wasn't that more important?

Not according to her family.

She walked over to the market and sat down on one of the cold metal stools. In an hour her mother would have calmed down enough for her to go back and hopefully change but for now she would just sit and let the air soothe her aching cheek.

She spent half an hour just sitting and watching people go by. Then she felt a tap on her shoulder. She jumped but then she saw Alistar looking like he was about to start laughing.

"Hey Kira

Then he seemed to spot her obviously injured cheek, "Whoa, you okay?"

She quickly brushed a strand of her ashen brown locks in front of the wound.

"Yeah I'm fine, I.. ran into a door," she said, internally wincing at how flimsy that sounded. He didn't look like he believed her but he nodded and pulled her up by her arm.

"Do you wanna go around the market? I told my mum i'd pick up some thread." he asked, "And do you wanna ignore how sleazy that came off?"

She laughed, "Yeah, sure,"

Normally, shopping with Alistar contained a lot of complaining and dragging feet, but he seemed to be on a personal mission to make her feel better. Still, when he stopped at a jewellery stall to buy her a bracelet, Kira felt she undoubtedly, just had to protest.

"Alistar, no!" Alistar just smiled at her with a hint of mischief in his clear blue eyes.

It was a simple bangle. Intertwined pieces of twine seemed to form a lovely braid.

"It'll keep you safe from things that go bump in the night, promise." He grinned and put in on her.

It could have been a sweet moment, but when they went to hug, they bumped awkwardly against each other. For a minute they just looked at each other, but then they started to laugh.

"We should… I should get to the reaping. The market is shutting soon." Kira's words were unsteady and nervous, her voice slightly shaky. It was hard not to notice how much puberty had blessed Alistar in these moments- turning him from a slightly dorky preteen to someone who wouldn't look out of place in District Seven.

"Yeah," Alistar laughed, "See you later I hope- guess."

Kira smiled slightly. Alistar stared down at her and kissed her lightly on her cheek. The uninjured one of course. Then he walked away, almost as nothing had happened.

Kira felt as if her heart had melted into some sort of unintelligible gloop, full of pure happiness and, yes, she could no longer deny it, a huge crush.

Puberty. Damn

* * *

 **Benjamin Brilleman**

 **18 years old**.

 ** _'The Piece of Resistance'_**

 **District 3 male**

 _'We are the fortunate ones_

 _Who've never faced opression's gun_

 _We are the fortunate ones_

 _Imitations of rebellion'_

 **~I can fix this, and I can do it myself~**

"Can you hand me the screwdriver to your left?" Benjamin asked, barely glancing towards his brother as he squinted at the wires. It was a fiddly job, but a hopefully rewarding one, at the end of the seemingly, never ending project.

Jardun obliged, the familiar weight resting easily in Benjamin's calloused hands.

Benjamin grabbed it up and held it to the carefully to the screw head. He needed to get the half-broken casing off to take in the damage to the rest of the wires. However, he'd already made several little mistakes and even with Jardun being better with computers, they had only just managed to rectify them before the whole project was ruined. They would both be furious, after that whole weeks worth of hard work put into it.

The two brothers had skipped breakfast in order to get some work done before the reaping began at 11, but both of them were distracted and slightly aimless. They always worked better on a full stomach, but sacrifices had to be made sometimes.

"Alright," Jardun stood up as he brushed off his slacks, "I think this a good stopping point for today. And you, Ben, seriously need a shower before you get into your reaping clothes; you reek."

Benjamin nodded and got up out of his cramped position, his joints cracking lightly as he stretched. He wasn't in the best physical shape, but in Three, mental capacity was significantly more important. Shaking his head and cringing at the large oil stain blooming on his already dirty trousers, he headed off to clean up.

The shower in his house was slightly temperamental, but Benjamin was used to it and so he knew the exact temperature setting to put it on, to not be frozen or burnt to death. It was just a matter of degrees, of course, and that was something he could do.

He stepped in and let the warm water cascade over his back, relaxing as it drummed gently on his skin. Before long, the water started getting colder and he reluctantly stepped out, grabbing his towel before going into his bedroom.

People expected Peacekeepers to have luxuries above the rest, but his house was actually slightly on the smaller side. His bedroom wasn't any better, seeing as it was actually the box room converted. It held the bare necessities: a small mattress with the sheets tucked tight on the sides and a small dresser. It had a few stains here and there but he barely spent anytime in his room anyway, so it didn't affect him much.

Benjamin found a simple pair of trousers and a slightly wrinkled white t shirt. They may have once been Jardun's, but they were clean and they stopped him looking like he'd been dragged through a hedge repetitively.

He glanced at the clock, panicking slightly. He had ten minutes until the reaping. Ten minutes until… we'll, he didn't want to think about it, and with the amount of possible people to be reaped in Three, it wasn't likely to be him.

It was with weak legs and awkwardly shaking hands that Benjamin went out of the door. Being a Peacekeeper's son meant that people, whilst not outwardly happy would feel a sick sense of justice if he was picked. It wasn't fair, but Ben understood it. In Three, even with the living arrangements being very much the same, there was a very strong 'us vs them' mentality that always stopped Benjamin - and Jardun - from having an abundance of friends.

* * *

 **Kira Fuse**

Kira may have been in the loud, crowded square, where in less than half an hour two people would be leaving the District- most likely forever, but she felt as if she was in the heavens. Soaring above the moon.

Oh how much Kira wished to leave the district on her own terms, but that wasn't an option. It would never be an option. It was likely that Kira would never leave her polluted, city like district. Filled with some of the smartest minds in the entire world.

She could volunteer of course, but she wasn't suicidal, and the leaving involved in that situation was a bit too… deadly for her taste.

The escort, a man clearly under the delusion that glasses made him look smarter (some can, but not when they're matched with hair dyed various shades of a neon pink) He smiled out at everyone, his teeth bared in an almost feral grin.

"Hello, everyone, are we ready to find out the lucky participents of this years Hunger Games?"

Kira had never seen a shark, but the escort came close to the sharp layers of teeth and the cold dark eyes she had seen in the photo. Even from a distance she could tell he was buzzing with excitement.

"Congratulations to Kira Fuse!"

Kira inhaled, sucking in air that suddenly felt too thick. She leaned forwards on her feet and for a split second, she thought she was going to faint.

Instead she stood, back straight. She wasn't stoic, anyone looking at her would be able to tell she was scared stiff, but she didn't cry. Instead she walked forward until she felt the wooden steps under her feet, smelt the varnish they used on the stage, could hear the whirs of the microphone and could see the unnatural whiteness of his shark teeth.

The time seemed to stand still and go too fast all at the same time. She watched rather than heard as the boy's name was called out, thankful- and selfishly almost disappointed it wasn't Alistar.

They shook hands, Kira trying to stop herself from trembling too much. She steadied herself, and when hearing the escort tell them to leave, she managed to walk down the steps without hurting herself

* * *

 **Benjamin Brilleman**

Benjamin was late, as per usual. Not too late - he couldn't get a warning, but late enough that he was stood right at the back of his section and he had to crane his head to catch even a glimpse of the bright pink escort. God forbid the peacekeepers son was late.

The speech went on as usual, the standard Capitol accent warping words, making them sound unfamiliar and slightly distorted. Listening to a Capitolite almost made you feel as if you had water in your ears. It wasn't obvious, but the world felt distorted.

He vaguely recognised the girl picked as a member of one of the snootier families in Three. Her back was poker straight but she looked ready to keel over at any second.

"Congratulations Benjamin Brilleman!"

A cold feeling seeped through Benjamins entire body. The steps he took were slow in an attempt to not collapse where he stood, but he slowly made his way onto the stage. The brightness of his Escort's outfit turned painful as he blinked away the blinding colours. He lifted his trembling hand and shook the girl's standing in front of him.

Her's was shaking too.

* * *

 **Hey guys! Sorry for the long wait. We've not been very good at getting together and working (aka we've been lazy ~ Moons) and for ages it was just stuck halfway through Benjamin - nothing against his character, we've just had very little motivation.**

 **We have already done the Four female but knowing us, it could be a while before we start on the male. Thanks to all of you for being patient.. WE LOVE YOU FANFICTION!**

 **It turns out we still have the 12 male slot open, so if you wanna get that place.. PLEASE SUBMIT! We'll post on our Bio when we've had the submission, so please look there first before you send one in.**

 **Again- thanks for your patience..**

 **Moons, Stars and Roses**


	6. District 4- Ready or not?

**Celeste belongs to Booklovin03 and Anapos to BabyRue11**

* * *

 **Celeste Finnley**

 **17 years old**

 ** _'Still a sister'_**

 **District 4**

 _You're broken down and tired_

 _Of living life on a merry go round_

 _And you can't find the fighter_

 _But I see it in you so we gonna walk it out_

 ** _~How do you destroy a monster without becoming one?~_**

She knew that her sister's room was a sacred place. She hadn't been in there for almost a year, hardly daring to go within a foot of the door.

But today was an appropriate time to remember her past; after all, she was putting her present at risk.

The only difference between what was happening to her and what had happened to her sister was that Celeste was choosing to do this. She'd had no choice, no say in the matter. It was the circle of life, as some may say, as unfair and lacking in kindness as it was.

But Celeste thought different. The circle of life was natural, a way of peaceful order, and anything forcing 23 kids to die couldn't possibly be anything but the cruelty of something man made. Unnatural death is what the nation was founded on, after all.

To do what exactly? Prevent rebellion? What would the purpose of rebellion be, even without this death trap? Not even the so called 'lucky districts' were blind to the hardship, the hardship that the Capitol's lap dogs wouldn't be capable of dreaming up.

Celeste snorted. For a second, her normally delicate features turned hard and her soft grey, blue eyes looked as if they could slice through a diamond as if it were butter. That was why the Capitol did it. Without the 'games', they could dream of a better world. With them, however, death was always around the corner, just waiting to strike. It was bullshit - utter, absolute bullshit.

Nothing, surely, had changed since her sisters passing. Her parents couldn't bear going in that room and neither could Celeste. The oak door had stayed shut, all memories of Pearl locked within it.

But here she was, pushing the creaking door open. One foot stepped into the forbidden floor, notes of dust flying into the air. Celeste coughed, waving away the particles. The dust covered covered everything, from the old wooden desk top to her pristinely made bed (her sister had always been a perfectionist, especially in her room), and there was a musty smell. Celeste just knew Pearl would have hated it - both the dust and the smell; she would have gone to all lengths to remove them from her room..

Celeste lay her hand on top of worn, scratched surface of the antique desk and shut her eyes tight. For a second, she swore she could almost hear Pearl's voice.

 _"Celeste!" Pearl shouted. "Get out of my room, you brat!"_

 _Celeste just grinned at her and Pearl began to chase her around the pristine room._

 _"Celeste, come on! Stop it, get out of my room!"_

 _The younger turned quickly, her hand striking the shelf hanging above the desk, which toppled down. It slammed against the old wood, landing with a cracking sound._

 _"CELESTE!" Pearl almost screamed. "That was grandma's! Mum's going to absolutely murder you. Look, you cracked the top of it! I can't believe you've done that; think about how sad she's going to be! Do you never think before you act?"_

Celeste opened her eyes, blinking away the haze before them. After that happened, Pearl had refused to speak to her for up to a week. She almost smiled, but then she clenched her teeth, the motion turning into a grimace. Pearl was gone, and she was never coming back. Celeste had to stop forgetting that.

She turned and hurried out, almost slamming the door before remembering where she was, shutting it with the care you would only expect from someone who thought the world might end at that very second.

She breathed in, hoping for crisper, fresher smelling air when her nose picked up a deeply familiar scent. Celeste shut her eyes and hoped she was imagining it but the smell was unmistakably there. It clogged and stuck in her throat, demanding her to stop inhaling the sickly scent of roses. Her mother was here. And nowadays, where her mother went her father was close behind.

The last thing Celeste wanted right now was to face her parents, who would surely be as nosy as ever. She did love them, and wouldn't turn down the opportunity to say goodbye, especially as she could be throwing herself into a death trap. But she was afraid of what she would say, uncertain at the best of times. And perhaps, of what they would say - or rather, wouldn't say.

Celeste still had a few hours before she had to leave, so she went down to the kitchen and grabbed an apple. Perhaps, once - if - she won, she'd be able to eat whatever she wanted, whenever. However today, it was different. Celeste might have hated the damn things, but Pearl could have eaten a 100 a day and still want more.

It was dumb, she knew, but today she wanted to feel closer to Pearl for some bizarre reason.

She finished the apple quickly, chucking it in the bin, before taking the stairs up to her room in twos and going to take a short shower. There was no reason to wash her hair and she wasn't in the mood to bother with drying it.

She dried herself off and brushed her hair until it crackled with static electricity, odd bits flying around her head like a twisted halo as she slipped on a dress and a pair of heels.

Pearl had lent them to her a few years back and whilst they had been the same size then, Celeste had continued to grow. They were too small now and pinched her toes, but it wasn't like she'd be wearing them in the games. Call it a token of sorts.

Walking quietly out the back door of her parents apartment which sat quaint above the grocery store. She pulled the hood of her black jacket over her head and prayed she didn't trip on the blue dress.

* * *

 **Anapos Curk**

 **16 Years old.**

 **' _Bruised but not broken'_**

 **District 4**

 **' _Have you forgotten how,_**

 _You would make me feel when you drag my spirit down?_

 _But thank you for the pain,_

 _It made my raise my game'_

"You're an idiot Anapos! Who in their right minds would volunteer at 16? Couldn't you have waited two years! No because you're an impatient, arrogant, idiotic, shell of a person!"

Anapos watched his Uncle get angrier and angrier. This wasn't the first time the man had yelled at him for his decision, but it was his most vocal attempt so far.

Most of his family were proud of Anapos but that was too much to ask from Edward - his uncle - who seemed to be under the impression that Anapos was just a weak kid. It was actually vice versa; Edward was, in fact, the delusional one.

His Grandfather was of the exact same viewpoint, but Anapos knew better. They were just jealous and bitter. He was the first in their family for a long time to be entered for the games and he'd managed it at 16. It was a family record, one that his relatives were envious of.

"Are you listening to me? Anapos! For fucks sake, this is precisely why you shouldn't be in the games! You immature little child, you honestly think the world of yourself, don't you? You, Anapos, think you're so high and mighty, sitting on your high horse like a git with a stick up his arse. Well guess what? You're just a tool! A GOD DAMN TOOL WHO IS BITING OFF A HELL OF A LOT MORE THAN HE CAN CHEW!"

With that his uncle stood up, and stormed out, slamming the door loudly behind him.

"So much for a nice breakfast," his mother smiled shakily, her fork clattering onto the dish as she tried to hide her trembling hands.

"Don't sugar coat it mom, he's a jealous arse. I'm going to take a shower before I volunteer to make the District proud - It's more than he'll ever do!" Anapos tucked his serviette away, shaking his head as he excused himself from the table and went to his bedroom.

Anapos went to have a shower, but checking his watch, saw that he still had hours to get ready. He decided to go down to the local swimming pool to try and untangle the knot of writhing tension he had from being yelled at.

For all that he said, and for all that their relationship was strained, Anapos respected his uncle and he disliked being shouted at, even if he was the one in the right.

He grabbed his swimming trunks and a towel, shoving on his rattiest and most comfortable pair of trainers.

He ran at almost full speed for a minute until he couldn't maintain that and began to jog. The place was almost two miles away but Anapos got there within 15 minutes..

The changing room was too warm and the lights were harsh, but Anapos felt pretty much at home there. However, leaving your stuff out wasn't advised - unless you wanted to return to no clothes and go home buck naked - so Anapos fished around in his pocket and luckily found a coin. He quickly put it into the the locker and shoved his stuff inside.

The water was cool and refreshing and as Anapos counted his lengths (5, 10, 15,) the tension slowly started draining out of his body.

Waterproof watches were the obvious choice in Four, so Anapos allowed himself an hour before dragging himself out reluctantly and drying off, hair still dripping.

He walked home as the sun beat down on him, evaporating off the last of the water. His limbs felt pleasantly stretched and the tension inside him was almost gone. In the end, his uncle was an idiot and that's all there was to it.

* * *

Celeste always tried to be inconspicuous when she went outside as she was often harassed by some of the boys. They said things a girl should never have to hear.

But of course, they still came on to her, even on this confounded day.

First there was a whistle. Then came the "damn, sexy". As they gave up on all hopes of bringing g subtle, one just started following her. Celeste pulled her arms tighter around her waist and counted the pebbles littered on the road.

Normally it wasn't this bad, they weren't this bad, but a lot of people in Four took to drinking around reaping day, perhaps in celebration that they were now safe and wouldn't have to risk the reapings any longer..

Then, the one following her began to close the distance between them, and grabbed her waist, his fingers cold and hard even through her jacket.

"Where are you going, little Missy?" He said, turning her around and smiling. His breath reeked of alcohol and his eyes were wide, likely the side effect of some unidentifiable and highly illegal drug.

"My eyes are up here, buddy." She spat, trying to turn away. Her efforts were futile as he latched on to her wrist.

"Surely you know it's not safe to walk alone; there are a lot of seedy characters around just before the reaping." He smirked, as if proud of his reputation as one of those seedier characters.

She jumped at his touch.

"Why don't we just head back to my place, little lady? We still have another hour before your reaping," His voice made it clear that this wasn't a suggestion.

"I think I'm good," Celeste curled her lip in disgust, struggling from his grasp and breaking into a sprint.

He wouldn't chase after her. They never left the darkness of the ally.

She was nearing the town center, surrounded by enough people that she could feel safe again, even though she was throwing herself into an death pit.

In her opinion, that was honestly preferable than hanging out with greasy nobodies who pretty clearly had awful intentions with Celeste. At least in the death pit, the only time someone would touch her neck would be to strangle her, even if she had a pretty face.

The square was buzzing with people. You could see the nervous 12 year olds, the career wannabees and the adults who got a sick entertainment out of it. Money was exchanging hands and there was a unique 'reaping-day' feel to the air.

It was almost a grim cloud hanging atop the audience, although really the weather was perfect. Celeste thought she'd learnt about this in school but she had spent most of her classes gazing at the back of attractive boys heads.

"Hello, Hello, Hello!" The cheerful, yellow haired escort piped up. Her eyes seemed to be solid white. "Welcome everybody to the 125th Hunger Games! The 5th quarter quell. I'm sure you all know the very exciting twist, so without further ado, let's select our female tribute."

The escort dug her long, manicured hands into the bowl and selected a name, carefully opening it. She looked like a bumble-bee, one you would see after a child had scribbled on its colouring book.

"Selia Westwin."

Celeste gritted her teeth and before anyone else, her hand shot up. "I volunteer!"

This is for you Pearl, she thought.

But after that, all she felt was the stinging pain of regret. Maybe, she had just sentenced

herself to death. This wasn't a suicide mission, but it sure as hell felt like one.

* * *

He knew he was ready. Anapos was one of, if not the best male tribute in the academy. He was smart, brave, strong and ready. It was time, because he knew if he didn't volunteer today, he would never do it.

A white shirt and a pair of tight grey pants were all he needed before he was ready. He ran his fingers through his curly hair and ran down the flight of stairs like something was chasing him. He wanted to stand near the front so he didn't have to look stupid whilst dodging through people when he volunteered.

The girl picked from the bowls was the wimpiest looking kid he'd ever seen. Anapos almost felt sorry for her but then someone volunteered.

He recognised her as the kid whose sister died a few years back. It was a Career win that year, although not from Four. She had been one of the unlucky ones- picked with no volunteer to save her.

The games were an honour for the strong but a death sentence for the weak and wimpy.

"Sayen Fiss!"

Anapos recognised the guy as one of his competitors. An 18 year old. He wasn't picked for the reasoning that whilst he was strong, he was also unbelievably dumb with no strategy whatsoever.

"I volunteer as the Tribute!"

"Suck it, uncle," he murmured under his breath, too quiet for anyone but himself to hear.

 **Sorry for the late update guys! We promise we will be more consistent and come up with a schedule soon! Hope you enjoy the chapter, please review.**


	7. Interlude

"Hello Miss Everdeen."

Katniss swallowed and nodded her head stiffly. It had been 5 years since the war and whilst the Hunger Games were over, and life was seemingly better, the Capitol was still in power.

Katniss wanted better. Prim had died for this.

But Prim hadn't died for this. She'd died to save innocent children and eradicating the games had done that.

"I trust you are comfortable."

Katniss had been called to a meeting with the new president. On her way up to the Capitol she stopped the train into Four to see her mother. She had been toying with the idea of going into Two, but the pain was still too raw.

She nodded her head. "The food the train was good, as usual."

Katniss still had the same amount of charm as a 'dead slug,' according to Haymitch, but the new President nodded and laughed anyway.

"I'm here to discuss starting up the Games again."

Her head shot up and Katniss began to protest, but President merely smirked.

"I'm afraid this isn't up to you to decide."

He snapped his fingers and a Peacekeeper holding a large guy entered the room. Katniss had fast reflexes, but she was unarmed and compared to the Peacekeeper she was tiny.

She was quickly sedated with a harsh blow to the head and in seconds, Katniss Everdeen was no more.

"Call in my wife," he told the Peacekeeper and the man went walking off.

Minutes after, his wife walked in, his three month child, the future President if all went to plan in her arms.

"One day son," he said slowly and deliberately, "This will all be yours."

 **Hey! I'm sorry this is so short. Its Dreamingofstarryskies. I'm unsure when the next chapter will be. We're all busy with our own stories and life's and often don't have the time to write together. I can't say for certain but I think we have written a small bit for D5. Sorry again and hope to see you guys soon.**


	8. District 5- The power of words

**Dore Proton.**

 **15 Years Old.**

 **District 5 Female.**

 _I'm proud of who I am_

 _No more monsters, I can breathe again_

 _And you said that I was done_

 **~If someone is strong enough to bring you down, show them you are stronger by getting up.~**

* * *

Dore had never understood the value of rebellion. To her, it was solely some worthless trick that these close minded people had. Sure, the Capitol was filled with dumb, self obsessed imbeciles, but so was Five. And it wasn't like blowing up one stupid factory was going to get the Hunger Games stopped; rather, it harmed the livelihood of others. In the grand scheme of things, the Hunger Games weren't that wasn't to say she loved watching people die, but at the end of the day, it would only be 23 kids out of… potential millions.

Anyway, violent rebellion could never lend peace. On the contrary, she thought bitterly. It was more likely to make their circumstances much, much worse. The Capitol may be filled with morons, but they knew exactly how much to repress the districts so they would have little hope, but not so beaten that the Districts would ever get united enough to fight as a nation. Hadn't they tried that once?

And what happened - Oh, yeah. A whole self-dependent district was obliterated. Gone. Never to be seen again. And how fun the Capitolites had found it, the sick bastards.

As much as some people wished they could end the games, what were they gonna do? Kill the President? There's always another one lined up, ready to take charge. Threaten the gamemakers? You're as good as dead. So why not just sit still and deal with it, take it like a sitting duck. At least it will save everyone from a living hell.

She was perched in the corner of the library, almost tucked away between stacks of ancient book and magazines. Dore was hidden from the world but that was how she liked it. As each rare stranger walked by, she made up stories; stories of forbidden love, of daring adventures, of excitement - of a world never known to man, a world we would never see. Unless you lived in the capital, of course.

But she knew better. Everyone in Five was as dreadfully dull and obvious as knowing that an electron had a negative charge. She'd heard it all before. It was the same endless cycle every single day.

They were meant to be smart. Maybe not to the extent of Three, but smart all the same. To her utter disappointment, everyone in Five was either just another boring parrot repeating the same useless facts, day after day, or so rebellious to the extent that it almost made it easy for the Peacekeepers to keep everybody in line, though it often involved a few choice gunshots.

In her hands, she held one of many books. The cover was soft leather which fell into a metal clasp, the title barely visible to the naked eye. The story itself was from Pre-Panem, and the language unlike anything Dore had ever heard of, almost undecipherable. It told of rivalries and forbidden love, an utterly foreign concept to her.

It was all bullshit really. No one could ever fall in love in the space of hours, days even.

Dore wasn't a romantic but even she knew that love took work. It wasn't all a fairytale.

She folded the page, and closed the book with a muffled bang. She wouldn't normally deface library books but she had no alternative and it looked like she'd been the only person to read it for years if she judged by the thick dust on the front, in which heavy fingerprints were now obvious.

There had been a name on the front page in faded pencil. It was too faint to read but if Dore looked carefully, she could make out a faded H and a G. Or maybe it was a C.

It didn't matter anyway. The owner of the book was long dead, much like she would be if she didn't leave soon. Looking at the large clock on the wall, Dore realised she had been nestled away for almost 4 hours, leaving less than two for her to eat a small lunch and prettify herself for the reaping.

Having almost fled the library in haste, Dore looked at herself critically in her bedroom mirror. Not in a self loathing way, but not in a pleased way either. She desperately needed a haircut, her once chin length hair now reaching far passed her shoulders, but recently her mother had been distracted by running the house, seeing as her father was locked up in prison.

It was odd. Whenever Dore would tell people, their faces would instantly scrunch up into sympathy. But yes, although Dore did miss him, she had to admit she was more inconvenienced than sad. Just another burden on her fragile shoulders.

She loved him and always would, but he deserved to be in there and if she was honest, Dore believed her brother would be the next to go.

She tied her hair back into a tight bun and changed into a blouse with black jeans. She certainly wasn't ugly, more plain than anything, but it didn't mean she had the right figure for dresses. She always looked 5 years younger than she actually was and the only dress she owned was in a garish yellow that made her look sallow.

Her mother didn't care anyway. She remembered when she was 12 and wanted to look pretty. All her mother did was take out an old lipstick, barely more than a stub and pass it to her unceremoniously. It made it look like her lips were stained with blood. Not a good look, she thought with a laugh.

They were never the family to care about such a vain thing as appearance.

Dore wouldn't be surprised if that lipstick was stolen, anyway. Just for the purpose of 'rebellion'. Maybe by her dad. He often brought home little gifts for Dore's mother. That was before he was locked away in some stone cold cell with nothing but a mattress and a rusted bucket. For all she knew, he wasn't in the district anymore. He could be in the Capitol.

She remembered him tapping her nose. "Five finger discount,"he would say. It was part of the few times he would show her his toothy grin. She wasn't abused, or even neglected really. She couldn't really complain about her childhood at all. She was just forgotten.

* * *

 **Adam Kruger.**

 **17 years old.**

 **District five male.**

 _What if I'm far from home?_

 _Oh brother, I will hear you call!_

 _What if I lose it all?_

 _Oh sister, I will help you out!_

 _Oh, if the sky comes falling down, for you_

 _There's nothing in this world I wouldn't do_

 **~The world owes you nothing. If you want something, take it, but don't expect me to give it to you.~**

* * *

"Excuse me, ma'am!" Adam exclaimed, pointing to a woman in her mid twenties bustling past his freshly painted stall, "You look like you would absolutely love one of my sandwiches. The bread is fresh… almost, and doesn't cheese get better with age?"

The trick, Adam knew, was to pick the right person. The wrong lady would get offended, but another would take it as flirting, giggle, and buy one of his sodden sandwiches.

Sadly, it appeared for him, this lady was of the easily offended sort. She flounced off as best she could whilst wearing the typical district Five apparel: three quarter length pants and a grey shirt.

A minority of woman would switch the average attire for a similar length skirt and most of men over the age of 18 would wear full length trousers, but overall there was very little variation. It was entirely boring. Occasionally, one in a brightly patterned frock would show up, bouncing around, and everyone would gawk, Adam included. Most citizens were already confused enough when the District Five escort showed up in a dainty salmon dress covered in what appeared to be little plastic bubbles.

There wasn't a uniform as such for them, but other clothes were exceedingly expensive and wearing too bright of a colour could mark even the most patriotic- not that many were to a great degree - District Five citizen as a rebel, and whilst peacekeeper's couldn't lawfully do anything, it would certainly make them scrutinize you a lot more meticulously than they usually would. And the last thing you wanted was a peacekeeper with a gun close to your head.

Whilst the woman had flounced off, Adam's display had gotten others interested and a few came over to inspect his stand. Adam knew his stall wasn't as flashy as others, nor were his sandwiches gourmet (his family, whilst smaller than most, was still living on two rather lacklustre budgets rather than the one they were used to) but the food was satisfactory at worst, great at best. He had healthy, almost-fresh ingredients and his prices weren't as outrageous as some of the other stands he would walk by in the District square.

Adam had been selling for almost two hours when a peacekeeper came to check his stall.

"Could I see your permit please?" Asked the peacekeeper, though it was more of a demand than a request. This happened right on schedule, without fail every week. Adam even knew the peacekeeper as one of his father's old workmates, but as Adam rummaged around in his deep pockets to find the elusive thing, the man's face showed not a flash of recognition.

Finally, Adam grasped the permit. The peacekeeper looked it over before giving him a nod and a clap on the shoulder and walking off. Peacekeepers wouldn't dream of touching most ordinary members of the district but as an ex-peacekeeper's child, Adam often got whacked on the shoulder, back or even head on the rare occasion when the man was feeling spunky enough.

In other districts, it was heard that the Peacekeeper's were much worse, especially Eleven apparently, but in Five they were mostly decent, although perhaps Adam was biased. They stayed out of your business if you kept quiet enough.

Adam had finished selling after several hours so he packed up his folding, rickety table into his bag and walked through the slightly broken streets.

"I'm home!" Adam yelled up, his mother walking down the stairs to give him a hug.

"Have you eaten yet?" She asked in a soft voice. Adam nodded in confirmation and she gave him a pat on his cheek. "You've got half an hour to get changed. When you get back you'll need to go to the bakery. I've ordered fresh bread for tea and we'll have it with the leftovers from Sunday."

On Saturday, Adam's mother had sold an unusual amount of stock and they'd been eating lamb leg all week. It made a nice change from their normal slightly-stale bread (it was cheaper that way,)

Adam walked into his room, a smile stretching across his cheeks. He didn't really care about what he was wearing and, knowing this, his mother had hung up his best (and only) good clothes.

They were once from his father, so his faded, button up white shirt was a slightly faded grey but it still looked smart. It was paired up with a pair of brown cargo pants. Expensive shoes were a frivolity in Five, where they spent most of their day in the regulation work shoes, so Adam made do with the slightly tattered shoes he'd had since he was fourteen. For some reason, whilst the rest of him hadn't, his feet had stopped growing at around 15 so they still fit him barely, but the soles were slightly worn.

"Brush your hair!" His mother called after him, but Adam ignored her, just flattening the top of it with his hand. It wasn't that he wanted to disobey her - the opposite, really. But his appearance was one of his less important aspects in his view.

"I'm going now, I'll see you later!" He called. Sure, there was the chance he'd be picked, but why dwell on it? His mother already worried far too much about his father. There was no point in making it worse for her.

* * *

 **Dore Proton**

Walking to the reaping was torture for Dore. Her mother walked beside her stone faced, her brother Damian with the same cold expression. Dore just looked bland. Somebody was going to lose this so called lottery, and it wouldn't be her. Not in a million years.

The reaping never was more than just a vague thought to Dore. The chances of her getting reaped were almost none. Until her father had been arrested, she'd never even had to take Tesserae.

For all her parents complained, they were well off enough. They never had to worry about feeding Dore and her brother, Damien. Most of it was from stealing, yes, but it was food nonetheless. Doesn't matter where it is from.

But each year, the stakes on the deadly lottery got just a little higher.

And as the name 'Dore Proton,' was read out by the escort, and the tears started dribbling down her face, she realised. Anyone could win the lottery. It was just a game of chance.

And she'd never been too good at games.

* * *

 **Adam Kruger**

It was within these sweating, tumultuous throngs that he came to his conclusion. He really hated crowds. With a passion, seeing how the stench of hormones would take weeks to wear out of these clothes. His mother wouldn't be pleased. And, to top it all off, there was so much occuring around him: desperate please, muttered prayers, and worst of all - crying.

Crying. The girl picked was crying. Even from his distance, Adam could see the tears dripping down her face. That would be seen as weakness, another chink in the armour to aim at. He understood though, of course; she'd just gotten her death sentence.

And it appeared, so had he. In the seconds he'd been staring at her swollen, weeping face and feeling sorry for her, "Adam Kruger" had been called out, and he no longer had any reason to feel sorry for her.

Because now she was the enemy.

And distantly, as if he had been separated from his surroundings, Adam realised he'd never thought something like that before. In the short second he had, he wondered just how quickly the games could change you.

 **Hey, it's Dreaming. Sorry again for the lateness. Hope you enjoy these two. Leave a review if you have the time.**


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